


Thunderstruck

by goldblumesque



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Thor: Ragnarok (2017), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:53:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldblumesque/pseuds/goldblumesque
Summary: What if Thor had landed on The Guardians' ship when he fell from the Bifrost? A prompt-fill from my tumblr inbox that I've decided to make into multi-chapter. Thank you to the sweet anon that gave me multiple really cool Thorquill ideas ♡





	1. Strange Stars

The shattering of the Bifrost beam, it sent him spiralling. A kaleidoscope into the unknown. Falling far into space, many leagues and lightyears away from Asgard and perhaps better for it, knowing the destruction about to reign down upon it at very, very short notice. Better for him, no doubt, but not for those trapped so defenceless as Hela seeks to obliterate all in sight. He has to act, _has to act now---_

The god bolting upright isn’t exactly what they’ve been expecting. Neither is the substantial thwack to Peter’s skull as they butt heads, though it should likely teach him not to lean over and stare so at unconscious strangers. Thor’s only response is a vicious little grunt and a guarded stare, scoping out each of the faces of his would-be captors. Well, all except Quill. He’s keeled over on the floor of the ship with a hand pressed to his bloodied nose.

“Who in all hell are you?” There’s a bite to his tone that scuppers Mantis’ plan to comfort, and instead her palm grants the god a hazy, warm feeling. He bends, head rolling a slight and confusion at sudden sedation shows in a deep frown, wide stare and a mouth that can’t quite spit the words it wants to. It’s quite as if he’s suddenly treading water within his own motivations, and it would panic if not for realisation he, for once, is perhaps seen as a danger. _Oh._

The rest of them are seeing to pulling Peter to his feet, a task he doesn’t take very kindly to and insists he can do on his own. Thrown a rag from some grubby surface of the ship by Gamora, it's both to hide his fluster and stem the flow of blood by looks of things. Eyes gleam with a rather passionate resentment for the injury, but he still speaks with authority.

“The Guarbians uh the---” It’s muffled, and so hand twists in another direction to speak better and still ensure he doesn’t drip all over his shirt. “The Guardians of the Galaxy, and who in the _actual damn heck_ are you?”

Shot back like comet fire, Rocket and Drax either side of the long table and settling in for a verbal tennis match. Or knowing Quill’s quality of a verbal altercation, ping-pong is probably a more suitable comparison.

Trapped in this calm mind space by Mantis, he still stares at her hand upon his forearm in wonder. An empath, maybe? _Such large eyes, so kind...._ When he finally looks up at Quill he seems far away indeed, even smiling mildly.

“Thor, rightful king of Asgard...”

“Asgardian?” Suddenly is Rocket’s attention much more concentrated, hopping up onto the table and giving a testing little punch to Thor’s bicep. “You’re lucky you’re a soft, pudgy mess, Quill. This hunk-a rocks could’ve broken your face, spark out.”

With that hell breaks loose, of course. Insult upon Peter is always catalyst for an argument and Thor stares between each of them as they fight it out. So full of conflict, he remembers when Stark and Rogers were so. Drax's laugh, like thunder it rains down, and Gamora makes firm attempt to argue for reason. A rather serene smile befalls the god, and shakes into a chuckle after observing Rocket for some time.

“The rabbit, he is very amusing---”  
                                          _**“THE HELL DID YOU CALL ME---”**_

Now, never before has Thor had a talking mammal attempt to leap at him in a fury and it’s not an experience he’d like to repeat. Allegedly it’s much cause for the entire crew to make a grab for Rocket instead and so reputation can only be dreamed of, he realises in retrospect. Stare is blown wide and then hidden by a defensive arm despite enforced calm.

Mantis too dives forward in to diffuse the raccoon’s ire, and that calming connection is severed. Thor’s panic returns with a harsh scramble from the table to look out at the stars before them. They glitter, cast out in the space around, but he doesn’t know them. They are not his stars. Hope starts to wane.

“Where are we?”

 _"'M Groot."_ It's a hardly enthused croak from the teenaged flora sitting so far undisturbed in a passenger chair, and Thor seems to even gain some understanding. A very direct one in fact, and The Guardians exchange a look. Maybe now isn't the time, as breath sits high in the would-be king's chest as if urgency might choke him.

“I need to go home. Now.”


	2. Self Deprecating Humour

“Back to Asgard? Pal, that’ll take a while. This particular ship ain’t too jump-capable an’ I’m not about to risk my eyes poppin’ outta my head... Well, not again.”

* * *

 

There’s been a discussion going on without him for some time, apparently this great big bad is going to town somewhere a long way away from here. Some chick from hell with a pretty stabby MO and he’s just been sitting there interjecting where he can as he waits for his nose to cease pouring like a fountain. Concern that he’s lost too much blood comes as it starts to dwindle, and he supposes that’s a moot point he should probably worry about later if ever.

“We’ll get you there. Might take us a while, another ship, whatever. If people are dyin’...” he shrugs, a quick glance to each of his crew. What they’re here for, right? “Rocket, Gamora, get us to the nearest trade port. We’ll see what they got and go from there.” With that they all scatter, even if slightly reluctant. Sure, it’s a planet-destroying level of war - but it’s nothing they can’t handle.

A sniff, and Peter makes effort to wiggle his nose as best he can. He can’t feel a break, but it damn hurt. Sourness over it lingers. No doubt it’ll bruise horribly into purples and blues and then fade in the next few days, and he can be thankful for Celestial parentage for that much at least. No, not even that much. Only that.

Despite one hell of a hit, Thor looks no worse for wear. Which is honestly more a little irritating. Fingers still prod gently at his nose as the god approaches, Peter eyeing him pointedly. He leans forward, bloodied rag still in hand and his elbows resting upon his thighs, the never-ending mantra of _Just Be Cool, Peter_ like white noise to the subconscious.

Thor gives a civil nod, intake of breath to speak instead leaves him as a charged sigh. Words mean to be there but have all evaporated with haste. Matters at hand have swept away what came before them. The wound scored deep in him as his father had fallen in last light over that cliff was now painfully evident, it sinking into conscious and knowing territory like a tragedy on mute. And Loki, he knows not where he is.

He thinks about that.

That he might be alone now.

As he looks lost, gaze low and recollecting, Peter gives a slight cough. Frown questions and he’s perhaps a deal more receptive to the fact losses may have already occurred. Silence lingers, for a moment or two, after it’s quite clear Thor won’t be sounding out any words of his own.

“Are, uh... Are you okay, man? You look a little---” He doesn’t want to say. Assume. Whatever it might be it’s a sore spot, the realisation of something terrible bubbling beneath who knows how shallow a surface. Either way it shakes Thor from his silent sinking, ship apparently buoyed for mere presence of others. A smile, a flat one, that eventually melts into but a glassy stare.

“My father is dead. My brother, maybe. I need to return; to my people.”

Another one of those obligatory civil nods, from Quill this time, and expectation of forming a plan starts to work the cogs that lie deep in tactician’s mind. People forget about that. That he’s smart. If he has to come up with some genius idea to kill this sword wielding hell-monster because the realm’s king is too overcome with grief, then he will.

Because he can. Having that ability and not letting others become his problem is old news, has been for a while. He’s not a Guardian of the Galaxy for nothing. They share thoughtful silence, until Thor is the one breaking it. Hardly comes as a hammer’s blow, but more tentative than that. An attempt at recompense.

“Your face. My apologies.”

A snort follows, Peter’s crooked smile making an appearance however dulled a shine it has. Shrugs it off, a clumsy gesture to his face and he can’t meet the gaze of the golden-maned Asgardian. He doesn’t know why.

“Can’t get much worse, I guess.”

Well, apparently he’s into self-deprecating humour now. Probably just some swipe at himself out of left field for being dumb enough to broach the subject of dead relatives, but it makes that curve of Thor’s smile flicker at the edges again. Peter’s own is pressed into a line.

Quiet they stay for another while again, the ship only echoing the muted pilot’s chatter between Gamora and Rocket along with the 8-bit tune of _Dig Dug_ from the cradle of Groot’s hands. Stars sail past them and Quill ponders anything they might find useful to pick up as they pass through, Vlemoth being a decent sized and fairly reputable port.

So, they’re gonna go kill Death. Cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this snuck on me much earlier than expected. The time and will to write up two chapters in one day. Amazing.


End file.
